


Exchange Rate

by Catsitta



Series: Just Business [5]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Mobfell (Undertale), Angst, Arguing, Bara Sans (Undertale), Confessions, Denial of Feelings, Drama, Emotions, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Kink Negotiation, Life Debt, Light BDSM, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mobfell Sans (Undertale), Negotiations, Power Imbalance, Red is a Mobster, Red is bara, Relationship Negotiation, Romance, Sans Has Trust Issues (Undertale), Sans is a Mess (Undertale), Sans is smol, Sugar Daddy, Sugar Daddy Red, Suggestive Themes, Swearing, Unresolved Emotional Tension, kustard - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 19:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29355711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsitta/pseuds/Catsitta
Summary: What is a life worth? It is bad business to leave debts unpaid.Mob Kustard | Slowburn | Romance
Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale)
Series: Just Business [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079678
Comments: 27
Kudos: 100





	Exchange Rate

“not tonight, sweetheart. we both need some rest.”

The ride back to Red’s place was a quiet one, the pair of them clinging to each other, unwilling to break the false security of silence. Once there, they headed to the master bedroom like usual, but when Sans slid his phalanges under Red’s shirt, his flirtations were met with rebuttal. That hand, large enough to encase both his wrist and half his forearm, gently pulled Sans’ frisky fingers from Red’s ribcage. The murmured rejection was as solid as a slap. For all he talked about initiative, the other had been spurning his advances rather frequently as of late...though if Sans stopped to think hard on why, he’d admit that Red not being in the mood for hanky panky made sense. Just because stress and brushes with possible death made Sans’ magic spark and itch with arousal, heat tricking through manalines until it flushed his bones, didn’t mean it did the same for his partner.

But dammit, for once it wasn’t about the money! If Red was turning him down because of some misguided notion that Sans was trying to cash in a bonus and needed protecting, then he could take his altruism and eat it. He was horny. Okay. It didn’t really happen often, especially before he met Red, but after the night’s events he needed to release some steam and wanted this big, bad (generous) monster to do sinful things to his body. It pissed him off to no end to admit that fact, but while it still turned his nonexistent gut to acknowledge he slept with the devil for extra cash, the devil knew exactly how to use his hands to leave Sans breathless and yearn for more.

Thus instead of heeding Red’s rebuff, Sans followed him into the bathroom. He watched as the other tested the steaming spray and began to strip. Red only had his jacket off when he noticed Sans’ presence and tried to shoo him off, ushering him out of the bathroom completely, “i’m a big boy. i can shower alone.”

Sans slid his hands into the front pockets of Red’s slacks, sockets hooded, “oh you’re a _big_ boy all right.”

Instead of flushing delightfully or grinning darkly, Red’s expression hardened and he took a large step back, leaving Sans staggered. “i said i’m not in the mood tonight,” he snarled. A blink later, he had his jacket in one hand, his wallet in the other. Said wallet he threw at Sans’ feet, “just take what yer want!” Before he slammed the door shut. However, Sans noted idly, the tumblers of the lock weren’t turned into place. 

He stared at the door for a long minute—numb and rendered mute—before looking down at the wallet. It was well-worn leather, black, but otherwise nondescript. Quality and meant to last through years of abuse rather than being flashy and flimsy. No doubt it was stuffed to the brim with credit cards and high denomination bills. The large skeleton never had any issue tossing a few hundred G Sans’ way when he wanted something. Once more he wondered why he didn’t just take what Red offered and comply with his demands. It would have been an easy way to end the night—stuffing his pockets full of cash as compensation for the traumatic night and Red’s attitude. But he didn’t.

His shoulders slumped as he tossed the wallet onto the bed behind him without looking inside, and knocked on the bathroom door.

“whaddaya want?! yer got yer money.” 

Sans winced, “can i come in?”

“i said—”

“no funny business. promise. just wanna talk.”

A pause, then, “fine. dunno why yer wanna talk right now. if yer just want a shower, i can jus’ go have mine in the guest room.”

Sans rolled his eyelights and slipped into the bathroom. Red was nude, poised to step into the steaming water, his latticework of scars on full display, and laying carelessly in the open was his gun, still in the holster. Both were evidence of the life he lived and price it gouged from his very bones. His eyelights wandered from his nearly crumbled floating rib, to ragged stripes and eroded valleys of calcium that turned the skeleton into a topographic map of pain and survival. Sans never directly asked how he got his scars, but curious looks and touches earned an offhand remark about a rough childhood.

Upon noticing his gaze, Red pulled a towel from the wall rack and wrapped it around his hips, “water’s ready if yer just wanna hop in. i’ll go to the—”

“what part of i wanna talk gave ya the impression i wanted to steal your shower,” Sans quipped, shrugging off his jacket, “be a waste of water anyway. there’s plenty of room for us both and somebody’s gotta think of the fishes.”

“sans…”

“fine. go on. leave. if you don’t wanna talk, i’m going to have a nice shower then. keep in mind you’re invited to scrub my back. platonically, of course.”

He had discreetly thrown his shirt over Red’s gun holster and was kicking off his slacks when the other gave a long sigh and climbed under the spray. Given the shower was designed to fit a monster of his size comfortably, it was a behemoth of stonework and glass, with intricate mosaics accenting the walls. At least Red hadn’t decided on a bath. It was practically a swimming pool made of copper that Sans struggled to even get into. The one time he used it, Red watched and snickered while suggesting a stepping stool before intervening by placing Sans into the water like he might a pet dog. The only trial getting into the shower was working up the nerve.

Audacity had gotten him this far.

The moment hot water rushed over his bones, Sans groaned, joints popping with relief. But beyond a few grunts and groans of working the days aches out of their bodies, neither made any noise. Eventually, Red brushed a loofa across Sans’ scapulae and they quietly washed each other, familiar enough with each other’s bodies to feel the jittery tension that wracked them both. 

They were simply basking in the spray when Red broke the silence with a single word, “why?”

There was so much gravity to the question. So many meanings and layers. There was no easy way to answer it. After all, how does one explain why they insisted on showering with someone when it would have been easier to take their money and shower alone? How does one explain why they saved someone’s life when they had more to gain by letting them die? How does one explain the contradictions and nuances of every choice Sans made when it came to Red? If it was all about the money, they wouldn’t be here right now. For the first time, it was Sans breaching the line he himself drew in the sand and fortified with contracts and schedules.

 _Why_ indeed. 

“i wanted a shower, it’s been a long night,” Sans said, well aware that he wasn’t answering the heart of the question Red posed. “and, uh...i kinda owe you an apology and all that. you told me not to push and i pushed.”

“i shouldn’t have yelled like that. or slammed the door.”

“yeah, your temper can be a real doozy. but i think we’re both due a little slack. stress doesn’t exactly lead to good decisions.” 

“sorry…”

“m’sorry too.”

When they extracted themselves from the shower to dry off, Red wrapped his arms around Sans. A hug. Simple, non-sexual intimacy. Red was a touchy person. He liked to rub Sans’ leg during dinners. Liked to wrap an arm around Sans’ shoulders when they walked. He even liked to curl around Sans to sleep after intimacy. But this was different. This tiptoed along that emotional boundary that made Sans shiver. 

“shoulda taken yer straight home to rest,” Red mumbled against his shoulder, voice rough and raw in a way that was unfamiliar and unsettling. Those large hands caged him. “but i’m a selfish bastard. needed to have you close tonight. needed a reminder yer were alive and whole. so when i woke up, it wouldn’t be to nightmares of dust.” Angel above, he sounded so vulnerable. So lost. Like a man lost in a desert of his own despair and Sans was his oasis of salvation.

Sans chuckled uneasily, desperate to lighten the tone, “i get if you don’t wanna be _bonely_ after the party, but i’m not the one that was almost a _dead_ man walkin’. didn’t get a _shot_.” 

Red didn’t laugh.

His expression was _grave_ as Sans slipped his grip and flopped onto that collosus Red called a bed. Its plush glory was silken and inviting and he could just close his eyes and sleep just like this, his legs hanging off the edge, arms sprawled out. But he decided against sleeping like a tossed ragdoll and rolled over, crawling up to the pillows and face planting in them. Soft. As he got himself settled, he expected Red to pull back the sheet and join him, possibly even looping his arm around his frame so Sans has a proper excuse for—snuggles—er, physical contact. But it didn’t happen. The other loitered about, pulling on sleeping pants and milling around, absently tidying things that didn’t need tidying.

“you’ve moved that plant three times now,” Sans drawled. “not like you to be so interested in the decor.”

“how so?” Red countered.

“pal, ya left that painting over your dresser askew for three months before I said something.”

“mebbe i don’t like this plant no more.”

Sans shrugged and eyed Red through a single, hooded socket, “or maybe you’re just lookin’ for excuses to not talk about what’s buggin ya. which is fair. wasn’t plannin’ on askin’ when sleep is on the table. napping is better than yapping.” Once more there was silence and Sans’ soulbeat skipped faster. The night had been rough and he was being mouthy. Red didn’t pay him to be himself. To push or pry or make demands. Red got arm candy at parties, a secretary at the office and a warm body in his bed for the low, low price of an exorbitant amount of money and Sans’ dignity. All Sans had to do to keep the gig going was smile and be attentive to what Red wanted and needed. “jus’ come to bed. you can interior decorate when i’m not on the clock.”

THAT earned a reaction. Red jolted, his teeth twisting, his hands balling up as his eyelights burned like the depths of hell’s inferno. But his response was not angry or sharp, but tight with a brittle kind of tension, “what do yer want from me?” 

“told you already. for you to come to bed. did the gunfire mess with your hearing? m’not great with green magic, so i don’t think i can help much if it did.”

Red grit his teeth, his golden falsie gleaming in the dim light from overhead, “i always pay my debts, sans. and yer went above and beyond our...agreement. what. do. yer. want?” He planted one hand on the bed and loomed. There was fear and uncertainty in his face, masked behind a impotent rage. He wanted answers. Did he honestly feel so disempowered by Sans’ choice to save his life? Did the idea of ‘owing’ Sans a life debt weigh so heavily that he couldn’t bear it? Or was his fear spurred by confusion and the unknown that Sans caused by the simple act of overstepping obligations? 

“dunno what you mean. you don’t owe me anything.”

“blatant feigned ignorance doesn’t suit yer.”

Sans glanced away, “can’t let it go, eh?”

“whatever yer want, jus’ ask.”

For a beat, Sans considers it. He could ask for more money. He could break his contract with Red and clean his hands of their deal. Hell, given he could feasibly ask for anything given the worth of a life debt between monsters, he could have his brother and himself set for life all the while never seeing Red’s face again. He had an out. A clean escape. Yet the demand never passed his teeth. It should have been easy. But like with the wallet, something in him stilled that animal impulse to flee. To take the money and run.

It was the same something that made him call on his magic and defend Red from attack.

The same something that made him cling to the branch of Red’s offer amidst the hurricane that was his life.

His grin twitched, “i’ll think about it.”

Surprisingly, Red conceded...only to swing the subject to another place Sans had no interest discussing, “how didja know he was gonna shoot me? i’ve been tryin’ to figure it out since we got outta there, but i can’t figure out yer trick.”

“just observant. i happened to look in the right direction at the right time.”

“and know his intent? know that you needed to act then and there or i wuz gonna have my brains blown out?”

“i was there. no need for a play-by-play. especially when it was just luck.”

“luck.”

“and a keen eye.”

“really. that’s all?” Sans blinked owlishly at Red’s sudden purr. The other put a knee on the mattress and climbed over him. Oh. This was nice. That deep, rumbling pitch and Red’s large form made him weak in the worst way when he was wanting. Sans’ magic still itched and sparked with interest, and it was live wire electric when the promise of intimacy presented itself. “yer know, i didn’t realize how powerful and frightening yer could be if yer wanted. those kinds of observation skills...and reflexes...and that tight control over yer blue magic and bullet patterns… it’s enough to make a guy nervous. makes him wonder what else you can do.”

Sans hummed low and trailed a hand down Red’s bare sternum.

“what kinds of hidden talents he’s keepin’ secret.”

“m’nothin’ special, pal, just a regular joe with a hundred bad jokes and knack for readin’ the room.”

Red grazed his teeth along Sans’ neck and collarbone, not quite biting down. His breath was warm. His magic cold. As much as his soul recoiled at Red’s lv, it also thrummed with excitement. Red could hurt him—kill him—so easily. He was a dangerous monster with countless lives on his hands. Enough that his aura was a breath of winter, his anger a frigid storm, and his desire tinged with frost. But Sans was long used to the brush of ice against his senses. Like a swim in a frozen lake, the plunge in was the hardest and most jarring. He had practiced enduring it for so long that the discomfort was easily set aside in favor of chasing pleasure. 

“you’re hardly average, dollface,” Red murmured. “now go on, tell me the truth. tell me how yer knew. how yer learned to fight like that. tell me how big and strong yer are~”

Oh, the jerk was fighting unfair.

Seduction or not, it was unwise to show his hand. How he could see stats without a CHECK. How he knew Red was a killer by his ever inching upwards LV. How he knew with a look what somebody’s intentions were. How he knew with a look that Red loved him, and that it was a love he couldn’t—shouldn’t—return. And beyond that, his magic was like poison to those with LV. It made them burn and shudder with their sins. Confessing his gifts to this monster could so easily destroy him. It would turn Sans into a threat in an instant. Because he wouldn’t simply be a cute amusement that was capable of defending himself, but a glass cannon specially made to render monsters like Red to dust. 

Sans curled his hands around an exposed rib each and twisted, eliciting a groan from the monster above him. He slid a knee up to press against the other’s pelvis, drawing out another shudder, “how about another deal?” Red’s breathing was heavy as Sans spoke. “stop asking me about hows of my dealing with the shooter, and i’ll show you exactly how _big_ and _strong_ little ol’ me can be.”

Red was tempted. It was evident in the way his breathing stills and his soulbeat quickens. There was a heady muzziness to his aura that was almost warm with desire. Sans didn’t offer this kind of arrangement. He laid back and sang real pretty as Red had his way with him, and got testy when Red pushed for more...initiative. But there was no mention of tips or extras. No diverted eyelights and uncomfortable, hesitant agreement. 

“i’ll hold you down with my magic,” Sans coaxed. “maybe you’ll struggle for a bit, but when ya tire out, i’ll get those handcuffs from the bedside drawer. if you’re good i won’t find the rope and tie your legs down too.” Red swallowed. “or maybe i will, jus’ for fun. and then i’ll make you beg real pretty before i fuck you. you like the sound of that, yeah? you want that?”

“fuckin’ hell, sansy, where did that filthy mouth of yours come from?”

“i’ve learned from the best~ so, deal?”

“...fuuuuuck,” Red breathed, sockets screwing shut as he clawed his way out of his own honey trap. “sometimes i forget how damn smart yer are. always makin’ these contracts.” He skimmed a hand down the side of Sans’ skull, “but i’ll bite...if yer agree to initiate more and be, ah, more assertive when we _bone_ , i’ll quit askin’ about the shooter. course this replaces cash tips...if yer wanna go back to the old deal, i get to ask about what happened tonight. capiche?”

Sans found himself a little uncertain. He didn’t really _like_ to be aggressive in bed and hoped a one time thing might have been enough. It was far easier to rationalize letting Red do what he wanted to him and haphazardly enjoying the experience. What was a little personal comfort in exchange for his secrets? Red probably wouldn’t even want him to take a more assertive role all that often given how much it thrilled him to be so much larger than Sans and to have him completely lax and compliant beneath him. 

_He didn’t have to make the deal. He could call in the debt. He could walk away now and never look back. He didn’t have to make another bargain in his life. He could get out._

“deal.”

PING.

Red’s eyelights shrank to quivering fireflies as Sans turned his soul blue, and a blink later, their positions were reversed. He instinctively bucked and thrashed against the sudden shift in gravity, but Sans’ grip remained firm. He never used magic on Sans. His sheer physical might surpassing anything Sans had to offer. But Sans? One learned precision and control when their magic was as volatile as his. He was careful not to scratch the other’s HP as he held Red down on the mattress, sweat beading on his skull from concentration and restraint. 

When Red’s panic calmed, Sans did as he promised and reached into the nightstand and fished out a pair of ridiculously fuzzy cuffs. 

“remind me of your safeword?” Sans murmured, offering a slow, lazy smile. 

When Sans woke the next morning, it was to a deep, whole body ache and a tremendous feeling of satisfaction. Sex with Red felt good, but he never woke up after feeling quite like this, nor had he ever slept so well. Maybe it was the expenditure of magic that he so often kept contained. Maybe it was how Red’s own magic seemed to harmonize with his in the heat of the moment. He half expected embarrassment and shame to kick into high gear, but Sans found his thoughts pleasantly muddled. Stars, when was the last time he’d actually relaxed?

Funny how all it took was a kid getting shot, saving his probably-a-mobster sugar daddy from getting dusted, having an argument and then having hot make up sex after.

As he stretched, Sans found the bed empty, no large body curled possessively around his, but before he could gather the brain cells to ponder that anomaly, the smell of greasy goodness caught his attention. The door opened to reveal Red with a paper bag from a nearby fast food joint in one hand, a cup filled with coffee in the other. 

“mornin’,” Red rumbled, fatigue burnt under his sockets. Had he slept at all? Sans offered a good morning in return as the other dropped the bag in his lap and popped the coffee on the nightstand. “i wuz out and figured yer would be hungry. assume yer still like breakfast biscuits and hash browns?” He trailed off, as Sans already had the eggy, meaty goodness unwrapped and halfway into his mouth. “well that answers that.”

Sans eyed Red as he snarfed down the peace offering. He looked as tense as he did after the gala. 

“work trouble?”

“huh?”

“work trouble,” Sans repeated with a shrug. “you usually don’t wake up before i do unless work stuff comes up.”

Red’s stare was narrow and accessing. Whelp. Time to shut up and drag his boney butt home. Somebody was thinking too hard. This was one of the reasons why Sans was content being a know nothing nobody.

“it wasn’t work.”

“ah. personal then. sucks when that happens.”

“sans.”

“hm?”

“about last night…”

“that bad?” Sans quipped. “there’s a learning curve with everything, i guess.”

Red sat on the bed and made an agitated huff, brows slanting together, phalanges pinching his nasal bone, “yer know i damn well aint talkin’ about that.”

“y’sure, cuz i’m certain we have an agreement regarding any other...subjects.”

Maybe it was the warning in Sans’ tone, but Red slumped forward, face buried in his hand, elbow propped on his knee, the picture of frustrated defeat, “and the fact we have that arrangement pisses me off, okay? i wish...i wish you trusted me more.” His pitch softened, lacking the usual dominance and gravel. “i wish we could talk about shit and yer not turn it into an obstacle course. i wish yer didn’t treat sex like poker. i wish...i want...i want more, sans. after what happened, i got to thinkin’ and life’s too short. the dreemur kid coulda died. i coulda died...yer coulda…” He released a slow breath. “it makes my soul ache thinkin’ ‘bout losing you.”

He peered up at Sans, hope a flimsy, fragile, fluttering bird that would be too easy to crush. Sans knew Red loved him. Hell, the asshole technically offered marriage with that little box he slid in Sans’ direction when Sans was desperate. But he didn’t want Red’s love. Couldn’t want it. Were either of them even whole enough to love in the way Red desired? For the longest time, Red had nearly every ounce of power in their ‘relationship’ and now Sans had leverage. Powerful leverage. The kind that made or broke men and monsters. Yet he hesitated to use it. To cash in that debt the devil owed him. 

Why did he hesitate? Why did he save Red’s life? Why did he keep bargaining? Why was he still here? 

The truth was bitter.

Unacceptable. 

He didn’t love Red. 

He didn’t love _Red_.

He… _couldn’t_ love Red.

Sans dropped his gaze to the floor as he slipped from under the covers and stood up. His pants were somewhere—

“...sans?”

—ah, there they were. Now his shirt—

“sweetheart?”

—He would prefer a shower but he didn’t want to be late picking up Papyrus.

“...yer really don’t trust me at _all_...do yer?”

Sans didn’t look at Red as he dressed, “that’s quite a, uh, leading question. i don’t know what you want me to say.” He was pulling on his shoes when Red stood up and came to stand behind him.

“the truth.”

No. He didn’t want the truth. He wanted to hear what he wanted to hear. Nobody wanted the truth. Not when it came to lo—feelings. Sans left the bedroom, “i gotta go. i can get a cab.” He’d done it before, but it had been a while. Red followed. Not that he really expected differently.

“no need to call a cab. yer know that. i will get a car pulled around front.”

Sans kept walking, head down as Red bid him to wait and to give him a second to grab keys if he didn’t want a driver. Once more, against better judgement, he relented, slowing his pace so that Red was able to fall in step beside him. 

“...dollface...why, after all this time, don’t yer trust me?”

He kept asking. Kept pushing and pestering all hurt and soft and...ANGEL DAMMIT. Sans found deep suppressed anger and resentment cropping to the surface for a flashbang of an instant, “why should i?” His glare made Red flinch and shut his motor mouth. Bottled up emotions bubbled forth as he dug at old hurts he let scab and scar over. A part of him wanted the pain. The reminder of all the reasons that he couldn’t trust the devil with his heart.

“let’s not forget how our first _date_ went. or how you basically harassed me into agreeing to it. i was a waiter and you cornered me every chance you got, well aware i couldn’t bounce you off the wall without consequences. then you shoved ridiculous amounts of money at me so you had free reign to continue! hell, you even bribed me to keep my mouth shut when it finally got through your thick skull, during that first night, that i wasn’t a prostitute and didn’t want to sleep with you, no matter how much G you threw at me!” Sans caught his breath and couldn’t help but continue the outpouring, “but then you had the gall to stop and apologize. to show just enough self-awareness that i gave you a chance, because i needed the money and you actually seemed sorry. then...you signed every contract i shoved your way. kept calling me for ‘dates’. actually acted like a halfway decent monster.

“and that was fine. what we had was fine. if you changed your mind one day and stopped calling, it just meant our business was done and you had found some other cute little piece to pay to look nice on your arm. but now, you’re making stupid offers and declarations. if you change your mind, you don’t lose anything and everything i have goes up in smoke. what is stopping a rich guy like you from finding a loophole in our contract and leaving me with less than what i had before we met? i don’t even have a real job right now or any shiny prospects.”

As Sans ran out of words, Red gingerly laid a hand on his back, “then let me prove my feelings to yer. if yer worried about bein’ reliant on me, then i’ll pay for yer to go to school. i’ll help yer get yer foot in the door to get a fancy job after, if that’s whatcher want, so yer don’t need money from me. and i’ll even help yer invest proper, so yer can be financially independent for the rest of yer life and need nobody else to take of yer but yer.”

Typical. Red was throwing money at his problems again, well aware that Sans would be a fool to not be tempted, “is this guilt from the life debt?”

“no!” Red protested. “it’s cuz...i am...dammit, yer got the ring! yer know i feel about ya. yer aint some passin’ fancy. if yer were, yer wouldn’t have been the only one in my bed and on my arm and in my head for the past year. i want forever. i have fer a while now….” He rounded on Sans, took a knee before him so they were at eye level. 

That ring. That little promise in a box that Red so smugly slid his way back before the both of them had a little heart-to-heart with the inevitability of death.

“you suck at proposals,” Sans deadpanned. “one outta ten, not wooed.”

Red, apparently thinking it was a joke, smiled at him, “will yer?”

“no.”

That smile faded, “do yer want roses and champagne and that schmaltzy stuff? i can get it.”

“no.”

“sans,” his smile vanished. “do yer...feel anything fer me at all?” Why did that query have to be so raw and sincere? Like Red was presenting his soul on a silver platter.

And why did it make Sans so angry?

“don’t ask me that,” he hissed. His ire flared hotter. “fuck you.” How many times had he wanted to say that to Red rather than keep it masked behind a veneer? Sans was near hysterics. “how dare you ask me that! it was supposed to be a business arrangement.”

“was?”

“is.”

“i lo—”

“no. no you don’t.” 

“what do you want from me!” Red surged to his feet. 

Sans stood his ground, “me? i have what i want. you’re the one asking for more than we agreed to.”

“drop the contract for a minute!”

“i can’t, you ass! just put yourself in my shoes and you’d know why.”

The silence was telling. 

“i will see you on monday, red,” Sans pushed past him and out the front door. He would call that cab. It would be for the best. 

The other called out after him. Tears sprung up in his sockets. Useless, troublesome things. His hands shook as he fished out his phone. His vision blurred as he found the right number in his contacts. Alone with his thoughts and an ache in his chest, all Sans could do was think. His mind whirled to his choices and the burdens he now carried because he saved the devil that loved him.

What was a life worth?

Sans sure as hell didn’t know.

**Author's Note:**

> Confessions and arguments and emotions—oh my!
> 
> An update to this series was the winner of a poll on [my tumblr](https://catsitta.tumblr.com/).


End file.
